


Palimpsest

by LaughAtLiveDragons



Series: The Palimpsest Series [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Chess, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multiple Universes Colliding, Mutual Pining, Romance, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, Three-Dimensional Chess (Star Trek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughAtLiveDragons/pseuds/LaughAtLiveDragons
Summary: pal·imp·sest/ˈpaləm(p)ˌsestnoun-a manuscript or piece of writing material on which the original writing has been effaced to make room for later writing but of which traces remain.-something reused or altered but still bearing visible traces of its earlier form.At the end of the TOS five-year mission, Kirk and Spock play a final game of chess.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Long-time lurker, first-time writer. Unbetaed, so I hope things are relatively clear. Constructive criticisms are welcomed!
> 
> I don't own these characters obviously. No explicit content in the first chapter, but rating to reflect later content. Will try to update regularly. I have part of the next chapter written with most of it mapped out in my head. This will be the first in a series that will eventually include the AOS characters in a separate arc.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Captain James Tiberius Kirk strode through the hallways of the USS Enterprise, boots clicking softly on the polished floors. Below his soles, he could almost feel the engine humming as the Enterprise’s hull cut smoothly through space, trailing her nacelles as delicately as a fine lady sweeping her skirts behind her. A sensation that he had grown used to over the past five years. No matter what alien earths he walked, he had never felt as firmly planted as he did when pacing the decks of his ship.

 

There were few crewmembers out and about at this hour of Gamma shift, but the handful who watched as their Captain swept by noticed nothing amiss. Well, almost nothing. Although his eyes crinkled at the corners in acknowledgement of their presence, the Captain of the USS Enterprise sailed past in a cloud of deep thought. All who saw him could hardly fail to notice, as the many quicksilver moods of their dear Captain had become familiar over the past five years, but the cause of such a tenor of spirit was easy, in their own minds, to classify.

 

The past five years.

 

These, the voyages of the starship Enterprise, had come to their natural conclusion. A wealth of scientific samples and data from swathes of the freshly-mapped universe, coming home again with their guardians, the explorers of new life and new civilizations. As they, the tried and tested veterans of a long and bold mission, caught a particular resolution in the lines of their Captain’s face, they knew to what they ascribed the cause. To a man who had boldly led others where the knowledge of the United Federation of Planets had no answers, finding the task done and the future fissuring in multiple directions would give plenty of cause for a strange light in hazel eyes.

 

But to Jim Kirk, treading like a sleepwalker through a haze of intention, the actual fact of mission’s end was less of an existential crisis in itself, and more of a deadline beyond which an action long deferred became logistically improbable.

 

Stepping into the turbolift, he breathed out sharply as the door closed. Passing a hand across his face, he felt the scrape of rough stubble under his palm.

 

 _Should I have shaved?_ He grimaced, straightening his spine reflexively. Even when away from the eyes of his crew, sometimes it became a challenge to turn off the Captaincy. _Well it won’t matter soon, will it? One way or the other…_

The doors slid silently open, and James Kirk, who had at least once been described as a stack of books with legs, found himself thinking of Tolkien.

 

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

 

Entering his own quarters, the space he had called his own for half a decade, he was struck anew by the sense of comfort offered between these walls. The small personal touches like the little library, and a few pieces of art picked up across the stars, were scattered through the regulation décor--the desk and partitioning screen, with a small round table and adjacent couch. The bed, neatly made but with a small stack of PADDS on the low shelf behind.

 

Kirk, breathing a little easier, looked at all these familiar things for a moment as though seeing them anew. For this, his life as it was, would soon be swept away.

 

He laughed, suddenly, standing there as if on the edge of a great cliff. If he looked into the distance, something shimmered just beyond sight. If he looked down…

 

Moving abruptly to the pale shelves along the walls, he picked up the 3D chess board and planted it on the table, swinging it across with one hand under the middle tier. On his return journey he brought with him a simple plexiglas box. Sliding open the top, he began mechanically placing the pieces on their designated squares, matching each together with the ease of long practice.

 

That done, he glanced at the chair by his workstation, half-moving as if to place it across from the couch on the other side of the table. This too was the result of habit, but he checked himself, dropping his hand before it made contact and retreating to the replicator to punch in the code for two cups of spice tea.

 

Back again to the couch, he placed the pair of cups on either side of the chess board, angling the layered game to face the couch itself. His mind had almost settled, now, acquiring a certain glassy calm that if the man had been more included towards introspection at this moment, he may have identified as akin to the sensation directly before announcing the Corbomite Maneuver.

 

A gentle chime announced his visitor, and his eyes flicked down to the chronometer on his wrist. His smile was faint and familiar. Of course Spock was on time. He would expect no less.

 

“Enter.” He called.

 

The doors opened, revealing his First Officer clad in science blues, hands clasped crisply behind his back.

 

“Spock, come in. Punctual as ever.” Kirk pushed off from the couch, crossing towards the Vulcan but stopping a distance away. The planes and angles of his friend’s face were eternally striking, cheekbones lifting in harmony with the tilt of those ears and brows.

 

“Captain,” Spock acknowledged Kirk’s presence with an incline of his head, pulling his hands from behind his back to reveal--a bottle of Saurian brandy? Yes, there it was, incongruous in Spock’s long-fingered, almost ascetic hands. The tilted spout and leather wrappings were unmistakable. “As this day holds certain meaning, I determined that a traditional acknowledgement of the successful completion of our mission would be appropriate. As Doctor McCoy is at present dealing with an outbreak of Denebian flu, I regret that this beverage is reserved for yourself.”

 

Spock offered the bottle with a slight flourish, and Kirk took it, careful to avoid the Vulcan taboo of skin-to-skin contact. He looked down at the bottle for a moment, weighing in in one hand. With a quicksilver smile, he glanced back at his companion and quirked an eyebrow in deliberate reflection of Spock’s own habits.

 

“Well, Mr. Spock, this is a pleasant surprise. I’m sure Bones will be gutted to miss it, but perhaps we’ll leave him a snifter. No matter. Tonight I’d rather be selfish and have you to myself.” He swung on his heel abruptly, stepping away and towards the couch again. _Easy there. Try not to act like a complete rube._ “I’m afraid all I have for you is replicated spice tea, but I hope it’s acceptable. Have you eaten? I was in the mess earlier, but I can program anything you like.”

 

“This is acceptable.” Spock responded, having almost mirrored Kirk’s movements in their drift towards the chess board. He observed the lack of his usual chair and the placement of the cups on the table, expressionless. As Spock folded his long form into a seated position on the couch, Kirk tried not to watch too closely. His officer exhibited grace in every casual movement. “I have consumed an appropriate nutritional supplement for this rotation. Tea is a sufficient adjunct.”

 

Kirk set the bottle down at the table’s edge, swirling it slightly to admire the fine colour of the spirits within.

 

“This is more than sufficient, I’d say, eh Spock? Most thoughtful of you to mark the occasion. How did you come by such a pristine specimen?”

 

Spock leaned forward to pluck the teacup off the table. He cradled the small porcelain cup in one hand, inhaling the prickly scent.

 

“I had a fortuitous if perplexing encounter with an interstellar merchant when our crew were on leave at Starbase Six. They had in their possession this bottle along with other recreational merchandise.”

 

“Spock, that was…” He considered their last visit to Starbase Six, flicking through memories with some surprise. “Wasn’t that the same peddler who caused Ensigns Tilar and X’tatpa such trouble?” Spock lifted an elegant brow, aware of the situation Kirk was referring to.

 

“While the Federation’s cosmopolitan mingling of species allows for any degree of _experimentation,_ acquiring sexual aids meant for another category of sentient being and attempting to deploy them in a personal context would logically lead to such mishaps. My understanding was that the peddler, to use your terminology, was under the impression our hapless ensigns intended their purchase as a gift.”

 

“A gift such as Saurian brandy?” Kirk grinned, unaccountably pleased by the mental picture of his pristine First Officer descending into a cosmic sex shop of sorts to acquire such a gift. And the time elapsed in between the purchase and the gifting…Best not to acknowledge the bottle had been in Spock’s possession for approximately eight and a half standard months.

 

“Captain, it is my intention to mark the conclusion of a unique and scientifically valuable mission. The traditions of your species offer intoxicants as an appropriate vehicle for this acknowledgement.” Spock’s eyes were grave as he looked across at Kirk. Even now, he fell back into the habit of claiming Vulcan identity rather than his own humanity.

 

“Jim.” He corrected, skipping over the solemnity in favour of a lighter mood. “You know the drill.” His insistence for Spock to use his informal name when they were off-duty was at this point a long-standing habit.

 

“Jim,” Spock acknowledged, his voice softening to mirror his Captain’s. “It has been an honour to serve with you. Will you, as is colloquially said, toast the occasion?”

 

“Only if you’ll partake as well? Sipping the good stuff without a companion seems unfair.”

 

“Indeed, I will join you. Although I do not metabolize the alcohol in the same way, the experience nonetheless is one I anticipated upon said purchase.”  
  
“Good then!” Kirk said, clapping Spock on the shoulder as he rose to collect two crystal tumblers. Spock remained on the couch, watching his Captain as he sipped from the porcelain teacup. Kirk reflected that while the glasses themselves had gone to space with him, these celadon receptacles were one of the items he had acquired while on-mission, for exactly the purpose for which they were now serving. _I did buy them for Spock. The delicate grey-green of the china bring out the soft green undertones of his skin…_

Clearing his throat, he set the glasses down in front of them both, the cut-crystal fracturing soft rainbows against the tabletop. With a sense of anticipation he cracked the bottle’s seal and poured two fingers into each tumbler. As he did so, he plucked a white pawn from its starting square and slung it several squares ahead.

 

“Game on.”  
  


Spock’s face rarely changed much, but an impression of amusement was plain to Kirk. Wordlessly, he matched the move with a black pawn, scooping up both glasses and handing one to his companion. Their hands came close, but never made contact.

 

Kirk mustered a roguish smile, meeting Spock’s eyes as he clinked the glass against its mate. 

 

“To a long and fruitful journey, and the best crew and bridge team a Captain could ask for. To the best First Officer, and friend, Jim Kirk could hope for.” He held eye contact as he sipped. The smoky burn of the brandy spread across his palate, and he sighed with pleasure.

 

Spock partook of his glass, face changing as he considered the flavour. Apparently meeting with his approval, he tilted the glass again, letting the amber liquor meet his lips.

 

“To a chance for new knowledge and experiences we all have been fortunate to acquire. And to having found acceptance such as I would never have thought possible.” His last sentence sped up in cadence, but he did not look away.

 

They began to play in earnest, both perhaps finding themselves eager to fall back into a routine that by now had become a moment of peace in a regimented and formal life. Both also were aware that this was their last chess game as Captain and First Officer of the starship Enterprise. The knowledge sat heavily on them both. Kirk’s occasional chuckles and exclamations over clever moves and brave forfeits echoed in the cavernous space between them on the sofa.

 

Kirk found himself aware of that space, measuring the distance between the line of Spock’s hip, the elegant bones of his legs. The clean sparkle of his Starfleet insignia on his shirt, and the slight swell of the muscles in his chest as he moved pieces and alternatively drank tea, then brandy, then tea again. From odd situations usually involving incarceration on away missions Kirk knew the skin under Spock’s shirt was sprinkled with crisp dark hair, accentuating a lean and remarkably defined torso.

 

Kirk poured more brandy for himself, then for Spock, who soon switched to a sort of cocktail composed of spice tea with a lacing of the Saurian brandy. Kirk was aware his First Officer drinking the brandy at all was a concession to Kirk, a gesture in itself. There was much to be said for such a token.

 

“Spock, what are your plans when we disembark?” He asked suddenly, swinging around to square his torso towards Spock. The Vulcan, halfway through jumping his knight over Kirk’s bishop, paused, placed his piece, and turned to face his Captain. This was a topic that, through mutual refusal to contemplate past the ship’s return to Earth, they had not yet discussed in any detail.

 

“There are a number of potential pathways open to me. I have yet to decide on my course.”  
  
“Yes?” Kirk prompted, swallowing slightly too generous a mouthful and trying not to cough.

 

“For one, the research station being set up over Excalbia has extended an invitation for my presence in a senior capacity. The Excalbians found our experience there to have opened up a field of exploration of good and evil. Their perspective, and their various projections, were certainly fascinating.”

 

“And? Don’t tell me you’d be comfortable in an isolated tin can running a philosophy debate? Your talents have much greater scope.”

 

“Yet I have spent many hours with you engaged in philosophical inquiry, have I not?” Kirk narrowed his eyes for a moment, recognizing the gentle humour but still skeptical. Spock continued, “The Vulcan Science Academy has expressed preliminary interest in engaging me as a Starfleet liaison. They have never forgotten my, as they see it, baffling refusal to be admitted, but the Council does acknowledge I have specialized expertise. Certain cultural differences might well be smoothed over if I was the intermediary rather than the academics and masters of Kolinar.”

 

Kirk clenched his fists, fighting the desire to down the rest of his drink. The thought of Spock back on Vulcan, mediating the _logical_ snappishness of a bunch of Vulcan academics, did not sit well with the Captain.

 

“I suppose it would be nice to be close to your family.” Kirk said tonelessly. Picking up a rook, he barreled it down the board without much regard for where he placed it.

 

“I-Indeed. Yes. My mother has expressed some encouragement for me to come and visit, as it has been long since I walked the sands of Vulcan.” Spock spoke with hesitance, and Kirk saw a flash in his eyes of deep discomfort. They both remembered the last time either of them had been to Spock’s home planet, and neither had spoken of it since.

 

“Hmm, yes, the sands of Vulcan. They do travel with you, after a fashion. I was still finding grit in my ears several weeks later.” Kirk attempted a joke, knowing that the kalifee was a subject close to the heart of his resolution for the evening. It was true however that he’d simply thrown out the clothing he had been wearing on that fateful day, as every stitch seemed to be inundated with red particles.

 

There was silence for several breaths, then Spock continued.

 

“Starfleet has also made a generous offer to engage my services as a professor at the Academy. They believe having my presence close at hand would also aid in the analysis of our mission data. It is a topic I have given much thought to as of late.” The game was forgotten, both men intent on the other. Kirk knew just from the purchase of the brandy that this conversation had been on Spock’s mind for some time. He understood the feeling with bitter perception. “Jim,” Spock said, his tone holding a slight edge. “Jim, what are your own intentions after we disembark tomorrow?”

 

Kirk froze, the many hours spent agonizing over potential ways to ease into the topic fleeing his mind. He swallowed. The precipice returned, looming deep and dark in his mind’s eye. How to answer in a manner that would make it clear to a logical being?

 

“I don’t know.” He said weakly.

 

Spock sat back. His face shuttered slightly, a resignation stealing over his features. Those full lips pressed together.

 

“No doubt a popular man such as yourself will have many competing for his favour. I am sure you will find yourself comfortably engaged.” Spock leaned forward to place his queen. “Checkmate.” Kirk saw the trap set for him too late.

 

“No!” This was not the way he’d planned. The persuasive arguments, the logical reasoning, the charming cajolery had repeated in his head until it was almost a simulation. Language had deserted him. Action was his only recourse.

 

Spock, shifting back in his seat as he let his hand drop naturally, jolted as Kirk lunged forward to clasp his love’s hand with his own.

 

“Spock, no. I mean-damn it, I’m doing this all wrong. I mean that I don’t care where I go, as long as you’re with me.” Frantically, he shaped his hand in a half-remembered gesture, glimpsed between Amanda and Sarek, and caressed Spock’s fingers. He was not a telepath, but he understood the basic principle of touch-telepathy. Desperately, he let go of his control, grounding himself at the heart of the long-suppressed maelstrom of desire, fear, longing, and love he felt for the man beside him.

 

Spock sat as if frozen.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the community for a lovely and encouraging response to the first chapter! I hope you like this one as well. I'm unbetaed so it is just me! It's a bit of an adjustment to write intimate scenes so please let me know what you think. And please forgive the whimsical use of Jane Austen.

 

 

For a long moment they sat there, Kirk tracing trembling fingers along the slight wrinkles at Spock’s knuckles. Half in agony, half in hope, he waited.

 

Spock looked down at where their hands met, brown eyes wide in disbelief. Slowly, those eyes rose to meet his own. Kirk tried to smile.

 

“Jim.” Spock said finally, his voice low and rough. “Jim, I-.” He broke off. He took a laboured breath. He looked down at their joined hands again. “How long have you harboured this sentiment?”

 

“To be honest I have no idea. If you’ll forgive the borrowed expression, I was in the middle before I knew I had begun. But I couldn’t let the mission end without telling you.” Kirk said quietly. He had made his move. The next was up to Spock.

 

Slowly, the Vulcan flipped his hand over, until it rested under Kirk’s, palm to palm. Delicately, almost experimentally, he dragged his fingertips against the sensitive skin. Kirk breathed out shakily. It was a simple brush, chaste and light, but something inside him woke up at the touch.

 

Slender and tinted green like the newest leaves, with almond-shaped nails, Spock’s fingers caressed Kirk’s hand. The ruddiness of human skin, studded with calluses, contrasted with these alien, beautiful hands.

 

Spock looked up, then, meeting Kirk’s yearning gaze with a sudden wild heat.

 

“Allow me to express my fervent appreciation for your honesty, then, as I regret my own courage was insufficient to the task.” He brought two fingers together, then, touching them to Kirk’s.

 

Both gasped as a spark danced between them, and suddenly the intervening space was charged with an intensity which called to a feeling at Kirk’s very core. In a moment that space evaporated as they moved into each other’s orbit, caught in a mutual gravity.

 

Kirk’s lips found Spock’s, meeting in a gentle press that deepened as they learned each other’s rhythms. Kirk found himself with a bit of a challenge in coordination as their hands continued to stroke together, building a rising intensity. This opened an entire range of possibilities that Kirk was suddenly eager to explore. He knew Vulcan society had certain customs and restrictions around their sensitive hands, but he hadn’t realized quite how affecting the reality could be. Rather than being a symbolic gesture, it felt to Kirk like the touch of hands triggered a similar arousal to the touch of his own cock by a skilled lover. _No wonder Vulcans don’t shake hands._

 

He felt a damp slide as Spock’s tongue flickered along his bottom lip, almost shy. Overcome, he moved his free hand to the back of Spock’s head, enjoying the silky texture of dark hair. Shaping his palm to meet the contours of the neck and spine, he tilted Spock’s head to kiss him more deeply.

 

A long, slow, slick and dizzying time followed, as Kirk lost track of anything except sensation. Spock tasted like spice from the tea and lingering heat from the brandy, with an underlying savour that left him breathless. He soaked in the reality of having the focus of his long-suppressed ardour here, with him, held chest against chest.

 

A growing pressure caught his attention, pulling his mind back slightly to take stock of their respective positions in the middle of the couch. His thigh was drawn up onto the cushions, enabling him to lean forward into Spock. It met a swelling at the juncture of Spock’s legs, one that twitched as he experimentally flexed his hip towards it.

 

Spock pulled his lips away, _hissing_ for a moment as he closed his eyes and evidently fought for composure. Encouraged, Kirk did it again. Spock’s hips jumped, and his eyes opened, pupils blown dark.

 

“You test my control.” Spock stated, lips glistening in the soft light.

 

Kirk gave him the best seductive smile he could muster. “You do know me well. Computer,” He added, projecting his voice further, “Lock the doors.” Then, quite purposefully, he brought their joined hands to rest atop the enticing bulge. With a wink, he squeezed.

 

What happened next was a whirlwind he wasn’t fully prepared for. Spock made a sound deep in his throat Kirk would best classify as a growl, and pounced.

 

 _Oh right,_ he thought somewhat dizzily as he was lifted clear off the cushions and shoved against the back of the couch, _Vulcans are significantly stronger than humans. Guess that bit of genetics really paid off._

Spock was seated in his lap now, hands moving under Kirk’s shirt as he explored the territory beneath. A ripping sound came next, as Spock pulled his lips away from Kirk’s long enough to shred the fabric, leaving it hanging in tatters across his broad chest.

 

“This is familiar,” Kirk murmured as he flicked open the button on Spock’s trousers. “How many times have I wrecked a shirt on away missions? Did you enjoy that? Did you think about us doing this?” Spock ignored him, bending down to take a flat nipple in his mouth.

 

Kirk’s hand fisted in black, shiny hair as Spock bit down, mussing the bowl cut in a way he’d dreamed of a little too often. Spock sucked on each nipple in turn, breathing on them as they turned to peaks in the cool air.

 

He was hard now, almost painfully so, and he muffled a groan as Spock continued to play with both nipples. They had always been a sensitive area for Kirk, but not all of his lovers had shared the level of fascination now exhibited by the Vulcan. He took in the view for a moment, his arousal kindling further at the sight of mussed hair and dark eyes.

 

Skimming one hand across Spock’s waistband, he dipped behind the other man and grabbed a pleasant handful of his ass. He thought wistfully of the many times he’d tried to avoid staring as his First Officer bent over the science station on the bridge. The train of thought paused as he realized the amount of skin-to-skin contact they currently shared. _Can you read my mind?_ He asked, feeling almost foolish.

 

Spock brushed his forehead against Kirk’s, breathing the answer in his ear. “Yes, Jim. I can sense your mind, and the impressions within. You are, dynamic, to say the least.” He licked along the rounded shell of the human’s ear. “And quite filthy-minded, although I cannot say I am surprised.”

 

“I-ah! I think you know I have a few creative ideas for us then.” He brought his hand back around to the open front of Spock’s tented pants and ran it along the hard length, testing, sensing. Deliberately, he licked his lips.

 

With a muted roar Spock jerked again, shoving his pants and underwear down in a movement that lacked his usual finesse. The contrast was deeply thrilling.

 

Kirk felt a rough hand in his hair, pulling him in. He caught a glimpse of a thick cock, the blunt head of it suffused with bright green. He gulped a deep breath, noticing the distinctive double ridges under the crown and a bead of moisture already forming on the tip. It was beautiful.

 

Then it was difficult to see much at all, Spock’s torso filling his entire frame of vision as he reared above Kirk, holding his phallus in one hand and Kirk’s hair in the other. The intention was clear, singing in the air between them.

 

Kirk stared up at him, at a vision, the culmination of years of longing. Then he parted his lips and took Spock in.


	3. Chapter Three

_It’s been a while since I’ve properly sucked cock,_ Kirk reflected as his jaw cracked a little around the impressive girth, _but I suppose it’s like riding a bicycle._

He teased the double ridges under his tongue, sliding the shaft in and out. Taking him a little deeper each time, Kirk breathed through his nose, learning the shape and textures of the warm, hard cock.

 

The flavour on his tongue was salty and a little sharp, almost coppery when he tasted the fluid weeping from the tip. The head of Spock’s cock was thicker than the rest of his shaft, standing out as almost a cap on its top. Kirk groaned softly as he imagined other practical uses for that particular shape. Spock’s grip on his hair tightened as the thought echoed, pulling Kirk forward until the cap of the Vulcan cock fit snugly against the back of his throat.

 

Kirk swallowed deliberately, feeling his soft palate lap against the sensitive ridges. He moved one hand up to wrap around the shaft, jacking him while Kirk enjoyed the sensation of the soft velvety green skin creating friction against the rigid stem.

 

He would have taken his time more, with extra emphasis on learning a different anatomy and a new partner, but Spock began to set the pace, up on his knees on either side of Kirk’s lap. Spock could only open his stance so far with his trousers bunched up around his shoes, so the fit was deliciously snug. There was a wildness to his movements, a fierceness barely harnessed by his control, as he thrust in and out of Kirk’s mouth in a quickening rhythm.

 

Kirk’s own dick pressed almost painfully against the seam of his trousers, but he was too absorbed with his task to pay it much mind. Spock, perhaps sensing his wavering focus, grabbed Kirk’s free hand with his own and held it against the top of the couch cushions. Their fingers stroked in time to each thrust.

 

Encouraged, Kirk smacked his lips, creating and releasing suction with deliberately loud slurps. He liked being vocal during sex, although it was more challenging with a mouthful, so to speak.

 

He hummed a little as he sucked and licked, drawing a gasp from Spock above him. It occurred to him that an advantage of telepathy was an ability to demonstrate how deep his inspiration ran even while multitasking.

 

 _Mmm, yeah, you like that Spock?_ He thought, hoping his somewhat distracted partner would still be able to pick up on his stream of consciousness. _You like my dirty, sexual, human mind. Do you know how many times I’ve jacked off in the shower, in the bathroom we’ve shared for so many years, just getting off on the fact that you’d been in the same space as me, naked and wet? Wondering if you ever did the same, thinking of me? Thinking that maybe you liked me in my ripped shirts, hoping if I pretended to flirt with an alien princess I could make you jealous?_

Spock stilled, cock resting on Kirk’s open bottom lip. Their eyes met. Kirk smiled at him, not caring that a trail of saliva was beginning to drip down onto the shreds of his shirt. _I wanted you so much. Thought about you taking me on the bridge, fucking me right there in the Captain’s chair._ He tried to visualize the image he’d seen in his mind’s eye, of him spread-eagled across the blocky chair, faux leather sticking a little against his bare skin as Spock fucked into him from behind. A few visual tweaks seemed appropriate as he had the reality of Spock’s member in front of him to work with.

 

A tremor spread across Spock’s narrow frame, until he shook as though under tremendous strain. Their fingers laced together, and Spock’s other hand trailed down the side of Kirk’s cheek, scraping against his stubble.

 

Something immense and overwhelming hovered over them both. The moment drew out, until Kirk couldn’t take it anymore and turned his head, mouthing and licking at the sensitive skin on Spock’s inner thigh. He scratched that stubble across the skin roughly, bringing a green flush to the surface.

 

Spock snapped.

 

Kirk found his head pulled back, held motionless with an iron grip, his hand held in Spock’s, fingers still laced together. He had barely opened his mouth when it was filled with cock, sliding in and out with an accelerating velocity.

 

Struggling to reorient, Kirk fought to relax his throat, torn between a primitive delight and slight physical discomfort. Seeing the self-contained Vulcan like this was intoxicating, the stuff of private fantasies. Knowing that he, Jim Kirk, had brought Spock to this point was satisfying in the extreme.

 

 _I should have teased him like this years ago._ Kirk thought as Spock fucked into his mouth harder. _But better late than never._

Kirk stretched his mouth wider, straining to keep up with his partner’s enthusiasm. He could barely see anything, only feel. The fabric of Spock’s uniform, which he’d never gotten around to taking off, rubbed against the surface of his forehead. He could hear the rumble of Spock’s heartbeat on one side, the harshened breathing in his lungs.

 

He felt dizzy, enveloped on either side by Spock’s thighs, held in place by his hands and limbs. Kirk could smell the clean musk of Spock’s scent, the slight tang from generous quantities of precome that slicked the way for him.

 

Spock moaned from above him, the sounds he was making a world away from his usual impassive exterior. His right hand swept down to cup around the side of Kirk’s face again, thumb resting above his cheekbone.

 

Several things happened then, while time itself slowed to a crawl. Kirk had been conscious of a tingling sensation flickering pleasantly along their joined hands, glittering stronger as they rubbed and moved their fingers against each other. Spock rutted into his mouth again, driving in deep, and that sensation flared unexpectedly right at his temple.

 

Kirk jolted from head to toe, feeling like he’d been hit by lighting. His actual movement was almost nonexistent, so tightly was he being held by Spock. If possible the cock in his mouth slipped in deeper, pulsing and jumping as Spock _roared_ and came deep in his throat.

 

Kirk choked, swallowing with effort. That feeling drew out, a profound connection deepening until Kirk could feel the exultant sensation of orgasm as it bloomed like a supernova in Spock’s mind. A star, white-hot and blazing, circled around its twin and erupted in jubilation, plasma reaching out to enfold the other-

 

Sudden blackness dropped, the sense of affinity snapping like a rubber band. He was thrown out into deep space, wheeling through darkness punctuated by pinpricks of light, all bearings lost. He floated there for eons, utterly spent.

 

When he came back to himself, he was first conscious of a great weight across his chest, then a wetness in his trousers. Spock was slumped into him, head curled into his neck, hands clinging to his shoulders. His entire frame was wracked with shivers, shuddering against Kirk to the point where he could feel the vibration in his bones. Spock was gasping for breath, and Kirk extricated one hand to rub small circles on his back.

 

His attention turned to the dampness spreading, and he discovered he had come in his pants, untouched. He smirked, reflecting that it had been a long time since that particular phenomenon had happened to him. Then again, no sexual encounter had ever been quite so overwhelming.

 

Spock’s trembles still hadn’t subsided, and Kirk found himself growing concerned, and slightly squashed.

 

“Spock?”

 

No answer.

 

“Hey.” He patted Spock’s back awkwardly. “Spock, hey, come back to me.” After a moment with no response he shifted to push on Spock’s chest. “That wiped me out too, but you’re crushing me, come on now.”

 

Spock went back with the push, distancing himself enough that Kirk could catch a glimpse of his expression. What he saw worried him. It was shuttered, blank.

 

Easing Spock off his lap and onto the couch next to him, Kirk tilted his head and leaned in, trying for eye contact. Spock was focused at some point in the distance, unseeing. _Oh no, I broke my Vulcan._

 

Switching directly into caregiver mode, Kirk brushed Spock’s bangs back into place. “That was intense, huh? I know it was. It’s all right, Spock. We’ll both feel better if we get cleaned up a bit, won’t we?”

 

Awkwardly, Kirk shrugged out of his tattered shirt, using the golden rags to dab a combination of semen and saliva off his chin. He felt a little thrill looking at the shredded cloth in his hands. Messy sex was always the most satisfying.

 

Or would be if his partner wasn’t so clearly in need of aftercare. He slid off the cushion, kneeling at Spock’s feet. Gently, almost reverently, he removed Spock’s shoes off one at a time, taking the pants and underwear with them and tossing the bundle of fabric aside.

 

He pulled them both to their feet, Spock unresisting and pliant, and guided him in the direction of the sliding doors that led to their shared washroom. Once inside, the brighter lighting caused Spock to blink rapidly, but otherwise he was unchanged.

 

“Can you lift your arms? I need to take your uniform off.” Kirk kept his voice soft. Spock blinked again and seemed to focus for a moment. His arms rose. Kirk stepped in close, stripping the blue fabric from that deliciously appealing torso. Despite just having orgasmed his brains out a moment ago, his cock twitched at the sight. Now that was promising, but it had to wait for another time. He noticed that the shakes were subsiding. “That’s good Spock. That’s very good.”

 

With a slight grimace, he peeled his trousers off, the underwear coming away with soggy reluctance. He threw them in the sink without a backwards glance, stepping up to Spock again.

 

“We’re going to have a shower now. We’ll both feel better when we get nice and clean again.”

 

Spock let him herd them both into the shower stall. Kirk was encouraged by his first independent motion, to move away from Kirk to allow them both enough room in the small stall. Making a split-second decision, he chose sonics instead of water. _If Vulcans are from a desert planet I don’t know if water’s their thing, and it’s not the best moment to ask._

 

Spock allowed Kirk to move him into the buzzing stream of the sonic. An occasional shiver still traveled along his torso, bunching his muscles under that dark hair that Kirk was definitely trying not to be distracted by. Similarly, he did his best to push away the sense of gnawing concern. If touch telepathy sensed his emotional state, then it was his job to not upset whatever delicate balance Spock was wrestling with. He kept his mind as still as possible, focusing on his task as he used the dry brush in the shower stall on both of them, sweeping away any evidence of their encounter.

 

By now, Spock was no longer trembling, but he appeared to be on autopilot. _Maybe it’s a Vulcan thing, maybe it’s a Spock thing._ Feeling out of his depth, he went to a set of drawers that he knew housed Spock’s toiletries. After opening two or three, he touched black cloth and pulled out a meditation robe. He helped Spock into it, pleased to see Spock do up the ties himself after each end was handed to him.

 

“It’s late, Spock. Will you come to bed with me? We can talk more tomorrow before we get into spacedock.” Spock made no response for several beats, then nodded slowly.

 

Blowing out a held breath, Kirk walked alongside the tall Vulcan as they re-entered the Captain’s quarters. He paused to gauge Spock’s expression. While he was more present that he had been before, there was an unnerving solemnity in the angular lines of that dear face.

 

He pulled the covers back, gesturing encouragingly at the soft sheets. Spock lowered himself wearily onto the mattress, still wearing the robe. Kirk slid in behind him, hoping this was progress, painfully unsure of his partner’s mindset.

 

“Computer, lights off.” The cabin was swathed in darkness, except for a few familiar blinking lights from the computer terminal. “Goodnight, Spock.”

 

The only response was slow, even breathing. He curled into the warmth emanating from the form beside him, fitting their bodies together. Nothing could stay the same forever. So much of their lives would be changed after tomorrow. His last thought before sleep claimed him was that maybe, together, they could make a new beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was intense! I've never written anything like this before but wow it's fun. Please, please let me know what you think.
> 
> My take on TOS versions of these characters is that while Kirk has sexual partners before, Spock hasn't. This is his first real sexual encounter other than Leila Kalomi (and the haze of pollen on that planet was so focused on keeping them innocently happy that I don't think they went further than making out), and maybe the Roman Commander in Season Three. I think that is part of why things progress the way they do here, and I don't think Kirk realizes his inexperience.
> 
> I'm intending one more chapter in this fic, and then a sequel!


	4. Chapter Four

In the small hours of the morning, a silhouette loomed over James Tiberius Kirk, who was asleep on his back with an arm dangling over the side of the bed. He murmured in his sleep, twitching and clutching at thin air.

 

Spock stood, enveloped in folds of Vulcan cloth, memorizing every feature and movement of the man on the bed. He stood there, because when he moved, his resolution would be final.

 

He noticed the way the room’s faint light still managed to outline the fluttering eyelashes as the human reached the apex of his REM cycle. It was consistent with the available data that even in sleep, Jim Kirk was dynamic and restless.

 

His eyes drank in every feature of this human face, cataloguing each wrinkle, evaluating the curves and lines like the finest art. This man was perfect. This man was vulnerable.

 

Spock was no fit partner.

 

His stomach clenched as he remembered his actions, the brute force, the lack of delicacy and respect. The way he had simply taken what he wanted without heed for his partner’s comfort. He felt dizzy and sick, reliving again the way he had reached out with his mind, heedless of consent as he touched the very core of a being with limited telepathic experience.  

 

Spock had taken such pride in his control, had centered his life around duty, respect, and balance. Now that core of logical conscientiousness was fractured rubble, splintered by selfish action.

 

Dazed and wanton with his long-suppressed lust, he had abused the trust he was offered. He had tried to bond his Captain without authorization, without discussion and permission. Some lingering sense of decency had halted him before it was too late, but only mercy and chance allowed him to pull away without potentially causing harm.

 

He was dangerous. He was emotional. He could not allow himself to continue.

 

With a last lingering stare at the sleeping form, he exited the quarters through their shared restroom facility, utilizing the connecting door to his own quarters. Grateful for the privacy offered, he spoke the lights on and began to move with grave purpose.

 

He shed the light cloth of the meditation robe. Next he slid on appropriate undergarments and donned a full Vulcan robe suitable for travel. Folding his spare robes into a satchel, he added a handful of toiletries, meditation incense and lamp, his PADD, and a holo of his mother and father. Spock looked at his lyre for a moment, wistful, but rational thought told him such objects were replaceable, especially on his imminent journey.

 

Casting a final look around the space that he could no longer call home, he exited the doors of his quarters for the last time. His stride was efficient and crisp. His spine was straight. Dark shame shadowed his thoughts.

 

He made his way through the decks of the Enterprise without inciting more than strange looks for a First Officer in alien robes. Most crewmembers knew at this point that when Commander Spock swept past and did not acknowledge them, it was best to leave him be.

 

Spock arrived abruptly at the transporter room, startling the Ensign on duty. Evidently they had not expected anyone for several hours at least.

 

“Commander Spock sir!” They saluted, hastily smoothing their ruffled feathers.

 

“Ensign Lirlael. Are we in range of Earth?”

 

Ensign Lirlael’s beak clacked as they tested the sensor range.

 

“Yes Commander. We are not due to dock for 3.2 hours as of yet, but transport is feasible.”

 

“One to beam down to the spaceport.” Lirlael did not immediately respond, eyes flicking to his satchel and running along his robes. “Events require my expedited presence on the planet surface, Ensign.”

 

“Oh! Yes Commander. If you will please step onto the transport pad?” Turquoise claws began to punch in the required sequence, calibrating the transport beam.

 

Spock planted his feet squarely, awaiting the moment of transit. As he registered the vague itch indicating his atoms would be disassembled, he raised one hand in the ta’al.

 

For an ageless moment, he was insubstantial, and could neither think nor feel. The sensation was a relief. He had chosen the correct course.

 

Reappearing in the arrivals area of the vast spaceport, he began to move again. If he could gain enough momentum, perhaps then he would feel as though he was propelling himself towards a destination rather than away.

 

Finding a vacant terminal, he punched in his destination, ShiKahr. He could progress to the monastery from there. Spock noted that the ship departed in 2.8 hours and he was claiming the last available berth. It was fortuitous that the timing was so immediate.

 

His stomach continued to clench. Spock reminded himself that he had not consumed anything substantial for a significant length of time, Therefore, he would acquire nourishment.

 

Making a note of the location of the departure bay, he began to move through the flowing crowds. Many beings, humanoid and otherwise, noted the passage of a lone Vulcan. Something in his bearing made them swerve to avoid him.

 

He found a small café near his destination. Evaluating the various offerings, Spock discovered he had no appetite. With a sense of distaste, he settled on a fortified fruit beverage and found himself a table away from other beings.

 

With nothing to occupy him, his thoughts reeled back to the events of the past evening. Jim’s sudden declaration. His own loss of control. His invasive transgression. How could he have been so lost that he would seek to initiate a bond without clear sanction and understanding on both sides? The idea revolted him, filled him with bitter emotions. He could not place blame on the Red Angel or his mixed heritage. His path was clear. He must excise these sensations that could lead to such an unforgiveable breach. Kolinahr was the logical route, the rational penance.

 

Holding to that determination, he focused on his breathing, pulling a flimsy veil across his turmoil. Those sensations still roiled beneath, but on the surface all was tranquil. He entered a light meditative trance, following the same protocols instilled in his mind since infancy. Spock was Vulcan. Surak was safety.

 

Some time later, his eyes snapped open. An internal clock told him it was time to depart. Mechanically, he drained the lukewarm juice and deposited the container in a trash receptacle.

 

The procedures of identity verification progressed without much comment, and he took his seat beside the small rounded window in the ship’s hull. Soon, the familiar gravitational effects of takeoff pushed him back in the chair, but he remained present at the window, watching the curve of the Earth beginning to make itself apparent.

 

He caught a flash of silver and the bold lettering of **NCC-1701** , realizing how precise his timing truly was as she slid into atmosphere and passed the smaller ship. No chance of encountering crewmembers debarking. No uncomfortable questions. A clean break. This was logical. This was wise.

 

But as the last flicker of silver dropped beneath the clouds, S'chn T'gai Spock, child of two worlds, was overcome with agony. The choice he made was the only choice, to sever himself for the good of them both, even as he finally acknowledged the being who was his other half.

 

_T’hy’la!_

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Several realities distant, in a timeline changed through intervention, Jim Kirk bolted upright in his bed with an alien word on his lips. Tears pooled in blue eyes, streaming down his face as he struggled to process a sorrow not his own.

 

Gulping for breath, he fought his way free of the sheets. Jim ran to the small bathroom attached to the Captain’s cabin- _a private bathroom, thankyouverymuch-_ and lost his dinner down the toilet. He heaved and retched, trying to reconcile the sense of horror and self-disgust. _Not me. Not me._

 

Much as Jim would have loved to chalk it up to a bizarre and detailed nightmare, to eating cheese before bed or whatever Bones’ folksy Southern wisdom said would cause bad dreams, he knew he couldn’t dismiss it that easily.

 

 _Well, fuck._ He thought, slumping back on his haunches and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. _What now?_

 

 

**The End:**

**Of the First Part of the Palimpsest Series.**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to leave them like that! But hopefully y'all understand this is meant to fill a gap between TOS and TMP. Their story doesn't end here. I have a sequel planned out in the AOS-verse with the other Kirk struggling to understand the implications of reliving this story as a vision. What do you decide when you've seen a glimpse of how things could be?
> 
> I'll be on holiday in Mexico for the next few weeks, but when I'm back I plan to dive right in! Thank you for the support and I hope you enjoyed this fic!


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